


In which Sirius is cheerful

by Esinde Nayrall (red_squared)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-27
Updated: 2005-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_squared/pseuds/Esinde%20Nayrall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Sirius is cheerful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Archon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archon/gifts).



> This was "drabble" number four, for [](http://archon-mentha.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://archon-mentha.livejournal.com/)**archon_mentha** , who requested " _Remus/Sirius, of course...and please include the following any way you like: Cheering Charms, McGonagall, a Prefect's badge, a towel, and (at least) one very sexy R/S kiss._ "
> 
> Nothing explicit, features the pups (obviously), and I managed at least one gratuitous reference to everything on the list. Originally posted [**here**](http://red-squared.livejournal.com/17047.html).

“It always concerns me when I see Sirius talking to those two,” McGonagall says, raising the teacup to her lips and taking an experimental sip. “Do you have any sugar? Ah, thank you. Yes, as I was saying, I’ve probably been a teacher too long to feel comfortable watching that sort of plotting going on under my very nose.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” he says easily, turning to follow her gaze into the drawing room, where Sirius is chatting animatedly with the causes of McGonagall’s concern. “I was only a teacher for one year, and it concerns me, too.”

“If only the school year had started already,” she sighs regretfully, unloading a packet of notes and other odds and ends from her carpetbag. “I could at least threaten to take points.”

He’s not so sure of that either – if the mere taking of _points_ could discourage the Weasley twins, they would have been _well_ discouraged a long time ago.

“ – figured if they worked on you, they’d work on anyone,” he can hear one of the twins telling Sirius, just loud enough for him to hear. He turns towards the sound of the voice, watches as one of the twins slips Sirius a small parcel that Sirius palms out of sight.

“Feels like it, some days,” Sirius says, with what Remus recognises as a forced smile.

“Excuse me,” he says politely, standing to go and investigate.

He can feel McGonagall frowning at his back as he walks away.

~~*~~

“Mmm, morning,” he murmurs sleepily, as Sirius presses up behind him and kisses his neck in greeting. Leaning forward over the sink, he spits out a mouthful of toothpaste and regards his lover’s reflection in the mirror. “Where’s my breakfast?”

“Thought we should have it downstairs with everyone else,” Sirius says, smiling and pulling away. “Last day before they go back to school, after all.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the reflection of Sirius putting something to his mouth and swallowing it down with a glass of water.

He doesn’t want to ask Sirius what it is. He _trusts_ Sirius, he reminds himself. If it’s important, Sirius will tell him about it. If it isn’t important, well, Sirius is entitled to his privacy just like everybody else.

That doesn’t prevent his curiosity trying to gnaw its way out of his brain, from the inside out.

“I’ll be sorry to see the twins go,” he says, meeting his own gaze in the reflection. “It’ll be quieter without them.”

Whatever it was that Sirius just took has something to do with the twins, he’s sure of it.

“Mmm,” Sirius hums, noncommittally. “You should have heard them just before. Booklists and the rest have arrived and it turns out Hermione and Ron’ve been made prefects.”

 _So you **have** spoken with them today,_ he thinks resignedly.

“Ron,” he says, frowning and trying not to. “Not Harry.”

“No,” Sirius says, not sounding upset in the least. “Molly’s ecstatic of course,” he continues, his voice lacking the familiar hitch whenever he says that woman’s name. “Said that made it everyone in the family.”

“Everyone in the family? What about Ginny? What about the _twins_?” he asks, with heavy emphasis.

“Like I said, you should have heard the twins. Not pleased at all,” Sirius says, still with laughter in his voice, and still failing to take the bait. “Their badges don’t look like yours or Evans’ did, though.”

“They change them every year,” he says, before rinsing his mouth. “It’s supposed to prevent forgeries. Wouldn't want every fifth year, turning up at the station, claiming to be prefect.” Sirius gives him an amused look. “I did say ‘ _supposed_ to’ prevent forgeries.”

“Ready to head downstairs?”

“Yes,” he says, deciding to tackle the subject later as he fastens his robe. “I thought we might take a look at that Boggart in the drawing room on the way down.”

“After breakfast,” Sirius says, uncharacteristically exuberant and already halfway to the door. “Come on, Moony. Race you to breakfast.”

~~*~~

Remus thought that it was Harry’s arrival at Grimmauld Place that lifted Sirius’ moods. But it is now four hours after the children were delivered to the station, and the dark fits he was bracing himself for are yet to materialise.

Instead, Sirius is humming to himself, wandering in and out of the now-empty guest rooms with his wand drawn, _swishing_ and _flicking_ the linens clean.

“Padfoot,” he calls softly, following silently after his lover. Sirius turns around to regard him, and his arms are full of sheets, but his lips and eyes are smiling, laughing, joyous. “We’ve the house to ourselves.”

“So we have,” Sirius agrees, letting the sheets – which turn out to be towels – fall to the floor in an untidy pile. It’s not normally like Sirius to be so careless – he’s quite particular about putting everything away neatly.

The thought is a faraway one, though, as he closes in on Sirius. There are far more pressing, urgent, _interesting_ thoughts to dwell on for the moment.

“No one else about,” he whispers, offering, “I could take you right here, on the landing.”

“ _No_ ,” Sirius says, wriggling out of his grip and pushing him away.

He lets go immediately, not prepared to hold Sirius fast when the other man doesn’t want to be held. He shouldn’t be surprised – Sirius’ depression was bound to return sooner rather than later, and all he’s done is remind his lover how empty the house now is.

What _does_ surprise him is the fact that Sirius is still smiling, still playful as he leans forward and challenges softly, teasingly, “You’ll have to catch me first.”

~~*~~

As wonderful as the days are – and they _are_ wonderful, the two of them in the house together alone, with time for one another, and without any interruptions – after the sun sets and the stars scatter the sky, the terrifying nights begin.

Nights spent in bed with Sirius, with the other man struggling in his dreams, striking Remus in his sleep – _please, God, let it be in his sleep_ – his sweat soaking the sheets, and his screams shredding Remus’ heart.

“Padfoot,” he tries, reaching a hand out to shake the other man awake.

“Moony,” Sirius gasps, twisting upright, silvers eyes wide and haunted. “I need - ”

“I’m here,” he says, wrapping his body around Sirius’ trembling one, linking the fingers of the four hands they have between them and rocking his lover gently. “It’s all right,” he croons nonsensically.

It is not all right, because something is causing his lover pain and he doesn’t know what it is or how to stop it.

“Need - ” Sirius repeats, settling back into him and letting himself be cradled, held, protected, loved. “I - ” Sirius’ voice cuts off as the coughing begins.

“Water?” he offers, relieved that there is something he can do for Sirius.

“Yes. Please,” Sirius says, sliding out of Remus’ grip and reaching for the pillows, still coughing.

When he returns with the water, he is almost certain there is something in Sirius’ mouth when the other man accepts the glass and drinks.

“Thank you,” Sirius breathes, setting the glass aside and spooning up against Remus. “Sleep well, Moony.”

“ _You_ sleep well,” he says firmly.

Sirius’ only response is a tired smile.

~~*~~

“Fairly powerful stuff,” Emmeline says, inspecting the contents of the parcel.

The parcel was owled to Sirius from the twins, but Remus intercepted it two mornings ago. Emmeline agreed to meet him for breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron, and he’s sitting opposite her, watching the only medi-witch he trusts to tell him what the mysterious pink pills are.

“Shouldn’t be harmful, though,” she says with a pleasant smile, sliding the parcel back to him.

“Even though they’re experimental?”

“Something can be experimental at the same time as being well made,” she chides. “The pills are all sugar, but the centre of each is a powerful Cheering Charm. Completely harmless.”

He frowns, certain something is not right. “They can’t give you nightmares? Or headaches?”

“ _Cheering Charms_ , Lupin,” she says exasperatedly. “They’re supposed to cheer you up, not give you grief. One or two every now and again – nothing to it.”

_Ah._

“What if you were taking them more often?”

“Too much of _anything’s_ as good as poison.”

“Well how much is too much?” he presses, trying not to panic. _One or two every now and again – except that I’ve seen him take more than three in the same day. And that’s only when I’ve **seen** him. _

She frowns, and pulls the parcel back towards herself, withdrawing one of the pills and squinting at it. “No more than, I would guess, one or two a week. They’re _very_ powerful things,” she says, sounding almost impressed. “ _No one_ needs _that_ much cheering.”

“Right,” he says, with a polite smile. “Thanks for your help,” he adds absently, sweeping his things together and leaving a handful of sickles on the table to pay for breakfast.

She tells him it’s no trouble at all, but he barely hears her as he races for the Floo, her words sounding over and over in his head.

 _ **No one** needs **that** much cheering_ , he thinks morosely, flinging a handful of powder into the fire. _You’d be amazed, Vance. You really, really would._

~~*~~

“Moony? That you?” Sirius asks, his voice an exhausted whisper.

Intercepting the wretched parcel has turned his lover into this – this _wreck_ of a man who can barely leave his bed for the tremors that assail him constantly, whose eyes cannot bear neither sunlight nor torchlight, who gulps down glass after glass of water, enough water to drown ten men, and yet it is never enough.

“It is,” he says softly, climbing into bed with Sirius fully clothed and crawling under the sheets.

“Has the mail been?” Sirius asks.

“Yes, it has,” he says, trying to choose the right words, trying to decide what to say that won’t destroy his lover further.

“Was - ” Sirius pauses, as cough after broken cough fights from his lungs. “Was there anything for me?”

“Yes,” he says again, strengthening his resolve even as he buries his nose into Sirius’ neck.

“Why didn’t you say, then?” Sirius asks, sounding heartbreakingly bewildered.

“Because,” he says, tightening his hold around Sirius’ convulsing body. “Because I want you to stop taking them.”

Sirius says nothing, knowing better than to deny ever having taken them.

“I know the twins were only trying to help you, but they’ve made you ill,” he says, determined not to ask Sirius why he took the pills at all. _Without saying anything to me_. The question would sound like a demand for an explanation, and he doesn’t need an explanation, he already _knows_ why Sirius did this without telling him, and all he wants now is for his lover to recover.

“They worked too well,” Sirius says, hoarsely.

“Yes,” he agrees, feeling his throat tighten. “If you kept on, you’d never be happy again, unless you took one.”

“I don’t want to be addicted,” Sirius says firmly, before subsiding into another fit of coughing.

“I don’t want that either,” he says, holding Sirius and stroking his back, wondering how long it will take Sirius’ body to purge the charms entirely.

_I would rather have you healthy and raging than happy and sickly. A hundred, thousand times, I would, I would, I would._

~~*~~

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you,” Sirius tells him, later that same day, as they’re getting ready for bed once more. “It’s bad enough I can’t do anything to help sometimes. It’s even worse if I keep you from doing what you need to do because you have to chase after me all the time.”

“I _like_ chasing after you, idiot,” he says fondly, more pleased than he can say that he hasn’t had to wrench an explanation or an apology out of Sirius. “Can’t stand the thought of you being ill.”

He can feel the shape of Sirius’ lips against his own, curving into a smile before they part, letting him in. Sirius starts to shift into him, losing his balance as they fall onto the bed, and the sensation of falling, combined with the taste of the warm, sucking heat of Sirius’ mouth _almost_ causes him to embarrass himself, and then Sirius makes that high, frantic sound in the back of his throat that means he’s running out of air, and arches up into Remus, and then Remus really _does_ embarrass himself, removing his mouth from Sirius’ and trying to hide his face against Sirius’ shoulder.

“Been a while since that’s happened,” Sirius offers, and while it is plain that Sirius is laughing at _him_ , at least this isn’t the type of laughter that will make his lover ill the next day.

“See, you don’t need those stupid pills,” he says lightly, waiting for the mortifying shame to go away. “You’ve got me to keep you entertained.”

“Call that an improvement, do you?” Sirius asks, planting a kiss on the crown of his head. “Because I have to say, Moony, that kisses like that one can be quite addictive, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated and treasured -- even (especially?) on a fic as old as this one!


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